


Too Easy (loving Hannibal)

by Folie_a_duex



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternative Season 3, And Hannibal being a sap, Feels, M/M, Post Season 2, Power Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Sappiest smut you’ll ever read, Smut, Top Will Graham, We got murder, how does one tag, never in my life did I think I’d use that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folie_a_duex/pseuds/Folie_a_duex
Summary: “Is this intimacy?” Will whispers against Hannibal’s lips. “Is this what you wanted?”Hannibal kisses him with unsteady lips. “This is the beginning. The beginning of… everything.”~~~AU where Will kissed Hannibal in the kitchen instead of getting stabbed, Hannibal then didn’t kill Abigail, and they ran away to Florence.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 232
Collections: Wendigo & Stag





	Too Easy (loving Hannibal)

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpt from my loooong and angsty fic, The Devil’s Design, but this can be read alone and it’s literally just murder and smut. 
> 
> It mentions someone named Annabelle, but do not concern yourself with her. She is a friend Abigail made in Florence, but she’s obviously hiding something from them.
> 
> Enjoy, you filthy fans.

“How would you kill her?” Will asks before he can stop himself. They’ve spent a month and a half in peace and without death, but Will knows who he ran away with. Who he seduced. Hannibal Lecter, a psychopathic (or sociopathic, according to Chilton) cannibal. 

His head knows but not his heart. He needs to be reminded of the pain and the blood. 

“Depends on how she has offended me,” Hannibal says blatantly. “If she was rude and crossed lines, I would mock her in death and cook her liver, kidney, and perhaps her lungs.”

Will says nothing, and the silence urges Hannibal to continue. 

“If she betrayed us, I would make her death startling beautiful but… angry. I wouldn’t hesitate to hide my rage,” he continues. _Especially from me,_ Will mentally adds. “I’d cook us her heart.” 

“What if she became a risk?” Will murmurs. “One that hasn’t done anything but could.”

“I wouldn’t kill her when I could instead manipulate her,” Hannibal admits. “It’s much safer that way, and also more entertaining.”

Will scoffs at Hannibal’s little smile. “You psychopath.”

Hannibal raises a brow at him but his gaze stays fond. So fucking fond, almost too soft and too gentle and too loving. This conversation was supposed to remind Will of who he ran away with. Remind him of Beverly, Jack, Alana, Abigail, Miriam Lass, and all of the rest. All of the pain and suffering. Encephalitis and jail. 

And yet here he is, whispering these things and making Will’s heart swell with _fondness_. 

Hannibal kisses Will’s temple gently, his lips caressing Will’s skin and his hands cradling his jaw. “I thought there was no term for what I am.”

“Psychopath comes close enough,” Will mutters, attempting to come off as grumpy.

Hannibal can only smirk. “There are other terms for what I am.”

Will gives him a disbelieving look. “Expand.”

Oh that smirk is going to kill Will. 

“I am your husband,” he whispers into Will’s ear, his words a soft song. “I am a father.”

“You are also a monster,” Will reminds him, testing the limits. Testing how far he can go before Hannibal puts a knife in him. A cheese knife, to be exact. 

“I am your monster,” Hannibal replies, kissing Will’s temple again. “As you are mine.”

Will groans quietly. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Hannibal whispers, smirking against Will’s temple, his hands resting on Will’s shoulder and hip. 

“Flirt while talking about murder,” Will mutters, giving him a disappointed glance. 

Hannibal’s smirk only grows into a small, blissful smile, and he whispers, “Flirting _by_ talking about murder, my dear Will.”

Will opens his mouth to make some snarky comeback, but meeting Hannibal’s eyes is a mistake. He’s trapped - again - by the warmth in Hannibal’s dark eyes, and he’s stunned by the pure… _joy_ he sees there. The sunlight kisses his skin and gives him the impression of an angel, so Will can’t really stop himself from leaning in and kissing Hannibal softly on the lips, fondly. It’s become so natural, just to lean in and press his lips against Hannibal’s. 

He stills as he mentally notes that this is what Hannibal wanted. What he planned. Hannibal was luring Will into a cruel, cruel trap where he could believe he was loved, and his only mistake was actually learning to love Will. 

But just because he loves Will doesn’t mean his love isn’t seven levels of fucked up. 

_I am the lure, now. This is my design, not Hannibal’s. I’m in control here._

Will clings desperately onto the belief that he is the one in control. 

“Are you happy here?” Will whispers against his slightly parted lips. 

Hannibal hums in thought and kisses him again, fondly. “Immensely so.”

“Really?”

Hannibal leans back and pins Will with his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?” His hands shift across Will’s body and come to rest at his hands, grasping them tightly, fondly. His thumb rubs comfortingly against Will’s palms. Intimate. “We’ve escaped Jack and the FBI. We are together with Abigail. We’re in Florence, the place where I became a man.” He lifts Will’s hand to his lips and brushes his lips across the skin there, worshiping his fingers and palms. “And we’re together, as lovers.” Will can feel the smile against his skin. “Intimate.”

Will presses his lips to the top of Hannibal’s head, his hair sticking slightly to his lips. “We’ve never truly been intimate.”

_Not all of the walls have been broken down, yet._

Brown, almost red eyes lift to meet blue. A bright, intelligent blue. 

“Not yet.”

Will can’t help but shiver at those words. At the thought of being with Hannibal like that. Of finally binding the man to him, staking his claim on him and to truly be the only one to know him like this. Intimacy of minds and bodies. 

And there’s also the lovely extra of erasing Alana’s touch from Hannibal’s skin. 

“Are you hungry?” Hannibal asks as his hand comes to rest on Will’s stomach. 

Will shrugs. “I could eat.”

Hannibal smiles. “Let’s get something to eat. I know somewhere you will enjoy.”

~O~

“You look beautiful in the sun, Will.”

Will snorts into his drink, something he knows Hannibal could kill him for if he wasn’t Will Graham. 

“You’re so cliche,” Will mutters into his drink, catching Hannibal’s playful gaze. 

“You don’t seem too averse to it,” Hannibal says, smirking like the self congratulating asshole he is. 

“Don’t assume my thoughts,” Will responds, looking away and convincing himself he isn’t blushing. He’s doesn’t… blush. He’s a grown ass man, he can handle a little cafe date with his alleged husband. “No psychoanalysing.” 

Hannibal smiles, and it’s as radiant as the sun. “Of course.”

They talk about little, pointless things. Music, art, new jobs, Abigail’s education. Nothing too deep or too complex, but Hannibal can tell that there is a tension to Will. A tension he knows a little sun won’t erase. 

Will smiles at his husband, glowing golden under the sunlight. His gentle, fond, beautiful little lamb of a lover. He looks harmless, sitting across from Will at an outdoor table as they watch the people move past them and the wind blow the clouds by. No one would suspect the hidden fangs Hannibal so carefully keeps under check. 

Oh but Will knows that Hannibal isn’t some quiet little _lamb._ He is the wolf which lured the sheep away before sinking his teeth in and enjoying the fruits of his hunt. 

And it’s been very long since Hannibal hunted. 

Will needs a reminder of the man who framed him for murder and insanity. Of the cruel _beast_ inside Hannibal. And the most direct way to do so results in dead bodies. 

At this point, Will isn’t scared of the fact that bodies will drop. He’s seen enough death and art made from death, and he’s fucking married to a cannibal. He’s not worried about the death. What he is worried about is whose bodies will fall. He’s scared of those bodies being… undeserving of the transformation Hannibal will gift them with. He’s scared that he’ll have to stomach deaths that aren’t _righteous._

But he won’t let that happen. He _cannot_ allow that to happen. He can convince Hannibal to kill someone deserving of death. Someone of his choosing. He can convince Hannibal to kill for him. And by doing so, he reminds himself of the monster in his bed. He sees for himself the glorious release of his monster. 

Will gently wonders if he looks good in red. 

“Will?” Hannibal asks softly, reaching out and grasping Will’s hand in his own, cupping it, cradling it. “Where have you gone?”

Will smirks slightly. “Nowhere. I’m still here.”

_I was with you._

Hannibal gives him a disbelieving look but he lets Will’s little white lie pass. “Do you regret this? Coming with me?”

Will’s shocked by the sudden change in topic. Is that where Hannibal’s mind ran off to while he was contemplating murder? The dimly lit kitchen and Abigail’s quivering lips and his own shaking body? 

“No,” Will whispers, squeezing Hannibal’s hand comfortingly. “I don’t regret choosing this.” He pauses and lifts his eyes up to Hannibal’s. “Why?”

Hannibal shakes his head. “I was wondering what life would be like if you had not come with me. If you had truly betrayed me and sided with Jack.”

“You would have killed me, wouldn’t you?” Will whispers, watching Hannibal the way a hunter stalks his prey. Still as stone but ready to pounce. 

“No,” Hannibal murmurs, caressing Will’s gaze with his own. “I could never bring myself to rid you from this world.”

“Abigail, then,” he accuses. “She would have died in that kitchen, just like the way Garret Jacob Hobbs tried to kill her.”

Hannibal doesn’t reply for a moment, and Will sees the truth in his eyes. He sees the blood bursting from Abigail’s throat a second time as Hannibal finishes Hobbs’ work. His design. He sees himself, helpless on the floor, not quite lifeless, and just conscious enough to watch Abigail die. 

“You would have taken her from us,” he states. There is no room to question his words. 

“People do foolish things when they are overcome with emotion,” Hannibal says, searching for an excuse for the crimes he never committed. 

“And what emotions would have overcome you?” Will asks, demands. He already suspects the answer, knows the answer. 

“Agony. Betrayal,” he says, plainly and almost… righteously. “I was drowned in the thought of being betrayed by you.”

_Betrayal_ _and_ _forgiveness_ _are_ _best_ _seen_ _as_ _something_ _akin_ _to_ _falling_ _in_ _love_ _._

“Betrayed you by doing what? Choosing Jack?” Will’s eyes narrow and his head cocks to the side as he leans forward, his forearms resting on the table. 

“By denying the truth of yourself, of ourselves,” Hannibal says almost nonchalantly, as if he was ordering a cup of coffee. His eyes bore into Will’s, and there is a certain understating of the justification Hannibal’s hypothetical actions have. “I made a place for Abigail in our world, made a world where she could fit and thrive under our care, and you nearly threw it away.”

“And you would have taken her out of my world, had I decided to throw your world away.” The words could have been spat and thrown cruely into Hannibal’s face, but they instead escape as a whisper, a gentle realization. A quiet damnation. 

“Yes,” Hannibal admits. 

Will nods and flicks his eyes away from Hannibal, instead resting on the water of the river, glittering in the sunlight. 

_I won’t leave you. I can’t leave you. Because if I leave, Abigail dies._

_I am the lure._

“Let’s go back home,” Will whispers once their coffee and food is done. 

Hannibal nods and rises to pay the bill. “Let’s.”

~O~

_“Bitch, why do you always complain?”_

The woman says nothing, only turns her head away and keeps walking.

_“Listen to me, for fucks sake! I am your husband and I deserve more respect!”_

The woman clenches her teeth and says nothing. 

_“Mina!”_ He shouts before slapping her across the face.

Will feels Hannibal tensing beside him as they walk past the now screaming couple, his hands itching to do something. Not to defend this woman’s honor, but to destroy what little is left of the man’s. He looks up slightly to watch Hannibal’s profile, an image of stony control, but Will can see the clenched jaw and the eyes that never stray from the pavement in front of them. 

_A hunt is long overdue._

He grasps Hannibal’s hand and leans in, their shoulders pressing up against each other. What he has in mind is reckless, careless, idiotic, foolish, and the whole like, but he needs it. _Hannibal_ needs it. He needs that tension to be released and he needs to _see_ the monster hidden away behind his person suit. The cold and calculating monster has been seen, has been brutally revealed to him when he was thrown in jail, and he doesn’t need to know it anymore. He is aware of how manipulative Hannibal can be. He is aware of how carefully Hannibal planned his demise. He is aware of the calculating devil.

But he has yet to fully see the monster without control, without grace, without caution. The beast which lashes out at throats without a second thought, the monster which nearly gutted Will in his kitchen. He needs to see Hannibal laid bare before him, completely devoid of any lies and person suits. Simply blood and fire.

Simply _vulnerable._

“Hannibal,” Will whispers, almost seductively into Hannibal’s ear, his breath hotly brushing against Hannibal’s skin. His eyes flicker once more to the asshole of a man, and then back to Hannibal. “I want him.”

Hannibal hesitates before moving, before responding, and when he does, he turns his head to meet Will’s eyes and he is delighted by the determination and… darkness he sees in Will’s eyes. 

“Are you sure, my love?” Hannibal whispers back, keeping his eyes trained on Will’s. “Do you really want to do this, Will?”

Will chuckles halfheartedly, leaning close to whisper into his ear again. “I think a hunt is long overdue.”

God, the shiver that runs up Hannibal’s spine is _delightful_ , and Will takes a moment to see through his eyes. His lover, his newly wed lover, is here in his arms and asking to indulge in one of his pleasures. A pleasure where they will both be laid bare before each other, and they may decide whether or not the other is worthy of their affections. 

Hannibal smirks, a devilish crack in his facade, and he kisses Will lightly on the temple. “Would you hunt so impulsively, without a plan?”

Will scoffs, pulling Hannibal into a nearby store so they may circle back around to find their victim. “You know I would.”

“I know that you have,” Hannibal responds, his eyes sparkling with childish glee. 

“And when have I done such a thing?” Will mused, his eyes meeting Hannibal’s. “You’ll have to remind me.”

“When have you impulsively lashed out?” Hannibal murmurs, almost seductively. “When have you impulsively tried to kill someone?”

Will smirks, lowering his eyes. “I have never done such a thing.” He lifts his eyes. “I have only sent someone to do so.”

“Sent someone to do what you should have done yourself,” Hannibal murmurs.

“It was no less intimate that killing someone with a gun,” Will whispers, tilting his head up and watching Hannibal with gentle eyes. “And we both know that you demand intimacy between us.”

It’s lovely, watching the arousal rise in Hannibal’s eyes. 

“Shall we follow him and ask some questions?” Hannibal whispers, his excitement almost physically present in the air. 

“You’ll pose as a friend,” Will says.

“And we’ll pose as innocent.”

~O~

The man lives in a small apartment, a few miles south of their own place. After following him and striking up a pleasant (painful) conversation with the man, Hannibal can feel Will bristling with excitement next to him. He allows himself a small smirk at the sight of his dear Will quivering in the anticipation of a kill, wondering briefly if this is how he was when he began. He’d like to think he was calmer and more sophisticated in his excitement, at least the planned murders. The initial ones were impulsive, acting on instinct to protect what little he had left, so Hannibal chooses to ignore what he felt during those. This kill he is about to share with Will is not an impulsive kill. A bit short of planning and timing, but still precalculated and waited for. This is much more elegant than just sticking a knife in a man’s temple and calling it done. No, this is the one of Will’s first steps in Hannibal’s world, finally embracing the beauty of the darkness. 

_You beautiful thing._

It’s four days later, and Abigail is staying with Annabelle for the night. Will had doubts about whether or not they should let her stay with someone they’ve only known for a couple weeks, but Hannibal had reassured him that nothing will happen. 

“Abigail is strong and clever,” Hannibal whispered the night before, brushing a strand of hair from Will’s eyes as he learned over Hannibal, his eyes creased with worry. “If something were to happen, she would protect herself.”

“Why do you trust Annabelle?” Will whispered. 

Hannibal smiled. “She knows our kind. She knows what we are. She wouldn’t dare go against us.”

Will scoffed. “So your trust is placed in her fear of us.”

“Basically,” Hannibal said, smirking before softening his expression and leaning up to press a chaste kiss against Will’s lips. “Trust me, _mylimasis_.”

Will isn’t the only one eagerly anticipating this kill. Hannibal, for all his grace and control, nearly shivers at the thought of finally sharing a kill with his Will. Of finally seeing the darkness inside him, raw and exposed and entirely at Hannibal’s mercy because Will has granted him access to these parts of his soul. 

The man they’re about to kill, his life is worth nothing. Abusive to his wife and holding a mediocre job. A boring man that Hannibal couldn’t care less about. But his death, now that will be worth everything. He will be the catalyst to Will’s finally stage of becoming. It’s an understatement to say that Hannibal is excited for his death. 

They ring the doorbell at 10:27, not quite late but still well enough into the darkness that no one will be roaming the streets leisurely at this hour. His wife - Mina - answers the door, and with a polite smile and authentic Italian accent, he asks if he can speak to her husband, posing as a friend. She is suspecting and scared, but with a few urges from Will, she nods obediently and goes back into the house to fetch him. 

“You can see how terrified she is, right?” Will mutters under his breath, casting an angry glance at the closed door. 

Hannibal nods. She has instincts ingrained into her to protect herself from danger and to flee at the sight of it, but unfortunately, she’s been tied long enough to her husband to begin actively ignoring that gauge for danger. She has to live constantly with the most barbaric kind of monster, after all. A man who is unrightfully arrogant. Nothing more than a pig, in honestly, though. A pig destined for the slaughter. Hannibal quietly imagines a scenario of coming back to see the woman after her husband is disposed of, pretending to mourn yet guiding her to a safer place. Playing God.

There is some angry muttering on the other side of the door, and it jerks open to reveal their intended victim. 

_“Yeah?”_ The man grumbles in drunken Italian, abusing the language. _“Do I know you?”_

_“We have some issues to discuss with you, concerning a promotion of sorts,”_ Hannibal says, his voice honey on unsuspecting ears. 

_“You work with Signor Mateo?”_ He asks, setting a foot outdoors and inching the door closed behind him.

Hannibal nods. _“Would you like to close the door? Make it easier for us to discuss?”_

The man shrugs and steps completely outside in his sandals and closes the door roughly behind him. He honestly lacks a severe amount of grace for a human being. 

_“So? Does Signor Mateo want something from me?”_

Hannibal smiles, a cruel wicked thing. He knows it raises the hackles on the man before him. Will is still beside him, the calm before their storm. _Are you ready, my love? Are you ready to take a life with me?_

_“No,”_ Hannibal muses, smirking as if he’s just thought of some inside joke. _“We want something from you.”_

The man’s mind probably flicks to money, or drugs, or some stupid deal he became a part of many years ago. Whatever he is thinking, he never has time to speak his mind, because Will deftly slams the man’s head against the wall, rendering him unconscious and limp in Will’s arms. 

“I’m not entirely sure what he was saying, but God he sounds annoying,” Will mutters under his breath, a savage grimace on his face as he looks at the man. “Let’s go.”

They take the man - Will can’t be bothered to know his name, he’ll see it soon enough on the headlines - to an alley a few blocks down, holding him with his arms slung over their shoulders, as if he was drunk. When they arrive at the alley, they drop him on the ground with little grace and stand before him, like a couple of young gods, eager for their sacrifice. 

“Do you wish to see him displayed?” Hannibal murmurs as he hands Will the knife, his own knife, glinting in the dim moonlight.

Will thinks for a moment, nothing more, and shakes his head. “He doesn’t deserve it,” he murmurs. “He’s subhuman.”

Hannibal could kiss him there and then. 

The man wakes soon enough - does it matter how much time has passed? - and Hannibal opens his mouth to suggest gagging the man to avoid being discovered, but before the words have passed his lips, Will has deftly slit the man’s throat after the first beginnings of a groan escaped his vocal cords. Blood spills from the wound, pouring like water spilling from the edge of a cliff, and it coats Will’s hands and shirt. It looks black in the moonlight.

“Fuck,” Will whispers, staring at the blood and the dying man before him. “It wasn’t supposed to… it was supposed to be different.”

Hannibal kneels next to Will and places a hand on his lower back, attempting to be soothing. 

“It’s alright.”

“It was supposed to last longer, we were supposed to kill him together, and then I just-”

“Will.” The word is small and stern, meant to ground him into the present moment. “I am not expecting you to-”

“No, Hannibal,” Will whispers angrily, turning to Hannibal with a clenched jaw and desperate eyes. “This was supposed to be _our_ kill. Where I could finally see you kill, with me, to lose yourself in the kill.”

Hannibal takes a moment to formulate a response. “You wanted to see me for what I truly am.”

Will laughs bitterly. “I _need_ to see you. I need to remind myself what I tied myself to.”

“Have you not seen enough to be convinced of what I am?” Hannibal murmurs.

“What I’ve seen? What I’ve seen is the aftermath of things, Hannibal. The bodies displayed, already dead and mutated. The insanity boiling in my brain. The chips falling onto the table.” He chuckles another bitter laugh and hangs his head, gripping the knife tightly. “I haven’t seen you lose yourself in… in whatever it is.”

Hannibal brings a hand to caress Will’s cheek and the small stubble there. “You have.”

Will turns his head to glimpse at Hannibal with blue eyes that reflect the pale moonlight. 

“You saw me break,” Hannibal whispers. “You saw me respond to the threat of losing everything.”

_A knife in my stomach, and my daughter bleeding out on the floor._

“I did lose myself,” he continues, pressing his forehead to Will’s temple. “I lost myself to the very thought of being betrayed by you. I lost myself to whatever this is.” This being this relationship. This being this companionship that involves too much death and betrayal and lies twisted into their lives. 

“I lost myself in you,” Will whispers, thoughtful. “But at the same time, I found myself. I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with you.”

Hannibal brings the hand on Will’s lower back to rest on his nape, brushing the hairline. “I have lost myself. I’ve lost myself in you.”

They stay there for a while, kneeling side by side and breathing the same air, before Will shuffles away and looks Hannibal in the eye. “Show me,” he whispers before clearing his throat and speaking more clearly. “Show me how to remove the organs.”

Hannibal pauses for only a moment. “Are you sure?”

Will nods and presses the knife into Hannibal’s hand. “I need to see.”

The knife is handled with care and evidence of experience, and he quietly directs Will to move the body into a more accessible position, laying flat between their kneeling figures. The knife is drawn down the chest, drawing dead blood, and while Hannibal’s better sense is screaming at him to find a scalpel and put gloves on Will’s hands which delve beneath the skin of their victim, he can’t be bothered. The sight of his Will coated in blood and reaching deeper into his kill… it’s delightful. This is what Hannibal has been waiting for, wishing for and cultivating out of Will since the moment he glimpsed madness behind non-prescription glasses. 

Removing almost all of the organs takes time, and Hannibal knows that they need to leave time to clean and remove evidence, but he allows himself to indulge in this for once. To watch with patient eyes as Will catalogues the methods of removing flesh from a man. They remove everything but the lungs, and Hannibal wonders if there is some sort of meaning Will intends by it. Everything but breath stolen? 

“I want to leave it all here,” Will murmurs once the chest cavity is clear of everything but the lungs, the other organs scattered across the floor around them. “Put is back and let them find it. No trophies.”

Hannibal nods, but asks, “Why?”

Will smiles something that doesn’t reach his eyes and barely moves his lips. A twitch in the corner of his mouth. “He doesn’t deserve to be honored. He deserves to keep everything, but suffer for it.”

“Like the woman?” Hannibal asks. “Are you attempting to create a parallel?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe. She had a marriage but it was killing her. He has all of his organs, but he’s dead. And the Ripper always takes trophies. We aren’t taking any.”

Hannibal smirks a little as he places the heart back into the rib cage. “We are not the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will scoffs softly and rolls his eyes. “No. We’re not. I dare say that we’re something more dangerous.”

“And sloppy,” Hannibal mutters. “We have a lot of evidence to remove.”

Will nods. “I trust you’ll help me clean this up.”

The body is laid out on the same street as the man’s home, his chest open and filled with bougainvillea: a fond memory of Hannibal’s first time in Florence. Prints and any DNA from the pair has been meticulously removed, and the only evidence left now are the two men, covered in blood, leaning against each other in an alley relatively far away from the body.

“I propose a deal,” Will whispers breathlessly against Hannibal’s jaw, his bloodied hands clutching to Hannibal’s arms, steadying himself. As if he needs steadying. It is quite clear to the both of them that Will has never been more stable, more clear headed. 

“Yes?” Hannibal murmurs back, his eyes trained on his lover who is coiled tight, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“Their deaths have to be righteous,” Will demands softly. “I won’t kill anyone for the sake of killing them.”

Even if a man lies a hundred meters away, beautifully carved open just because he was rude to his wife.

Hannibal nods as he nuzzles Will’s damp curls which stick to his skin. “Every death must have a purpose.”

“That is the darkness I hold inside me,” Will whispers, closing his eyes and resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. “I am not needlessly cruel.”

Hannibal hums in agreement. “Nor am I.”

Will raises his head and smirks. “No. It’s just that your reasons are often quite insignificant.”

Hannibal’s smile splits his face. “But there are reasons,” he reminds. 

Will nods. “Yes. There are.”

Hannibal holds up Will’s head with a hand at his chin, watching him closely and memorizing the way blood latches onto Will’s skin. “But you finally feel it.” It’s not a question, but Will still needs to confirm it. Admit it to himself.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I’ve… I’ve always felt it.”

Hannibal hums, cradling Will’s face in his blood-coated hands. “Do you finally admit it to yourself?”

“Do I admit that I see your darkness in me?” Will whispers. “Do I finally admit to be the monster you molded me into?” The last words are spat softly.

“I never molded you into anything, Will,” Hannibal reminds him gently, like a mothering chiding a crying babe. “I can whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me.” He brushes his lips against Will’s. “I didn’t mold you into what you are now. I simply tilted a light to it, allowing it to bloom.”

“Bloom under your guidance,” Will hisses.

“Yes,” Hannibal states. “I would not stand by and watch as you attempted to live a normal life and deny your true self. Not after you killed Hobbs.”

“You intervened long before that, Hannibal,” Will snaps. “You sent me after Hobbs.”

“I never made you kill him,” Hannibal murmurs. “I merely gave you the opportunity to do so.”

Will laughs bitterly and pushes away enough to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “And have I finally become the monster you see me as? Have I met your expectations? Even with a quick kill and a messy display?”

Hannibal narrows his eyes at the slight self hatred he sees under Will’s words. “You have become everything I never expected and everything I never knew I wanted.”

Will scoffs, pulling away, but Hannibal pulls him close again. 

“You are beautiful,” Hannibal whispers, the words a psalm against Will’s skin. “Even more so than anything I could ever imagined.”

“Beautiful?” Will whispers, clutching onto Hannibal. “Beautiful, now that I am caked in blood and in your grasp?”

“No,” Hannibal murmurs, kissing Will chastely on the corner of his mouth. “Beautiful, now that you have finally shed your person suit and been laid bare before me.”

Will watches Hannibal closely, watches the adoration and worship he sees in Hannibal’s eyes. 

“I am not your puppet,” Will reminds them, himself more so. “I am not your toy to wind up and let loose.”

Hannibal shakes his head. “Never, Will.”

“Never _again_ ,” Will corrects softly. “I am your equal. I stand on the same grounds as you, knowing the same things and holding the same amount of power.” His eyes narrow and his jaw sets. “I am my own person, with my own darkness, and I am choosing to share this with you.”

“And I am honored,” Hannibal whispers into Will’s cheek. 

“We are the same, now,” Will whispers.

“Finally.”

There has been a tenderness in this past month, but tenderness could only last so long. Gentleness could only be present for so long. The storm inside them has held its breath for long enough, and now thunder has come. 

Will kisses him, softly still. “So make us one.”

Hannibal watches him with awe. 

“Take me home,” Will whispers. 

“Always,” Hannibal replies.

~O~

The journey home was first quick and efficient, but then slower and more careless, and now, as the door is unceremoniously shoved open, it’s hopeless and desperate. Hands are threaded through hair, roaming bodies and touching anything and everything. Feet stumble through the threshold, attempting to hold their bodies steady, but there’s just too much to hold up. Someone shoves the other roughly up against the door, kissing without mercy, and hands hold waists and jaws, securing the other in place. The dimly lit room reveals Will to be pressed against the door, his spine arching to touch more of Hannibal, and his hands are digging into his hips as he drags his lover closer. Hannibal holds Will’s head in his hands, maneuvering him as he pleases, kissing and biting and whispering soft words of adoration and dedication. 

“ _Mylimasis_ ,” Hannibal whispers, dropping his head to worship the length of Will’s neck, revealed as the buttons come undone with nimble, eager hands. 

“Get back up here,” Will demands with a groan as Hannibal latches onto his skin with unforgiving yet loving teeth. “I’m not done kissing you.”

Hannibal chuckles against Will’s pulse, smiling as he feels the blood rush under his skin. “You mean _attacking_ my mouth.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Will mutters as he attempts to drag Hannibal back up to his lips.

“I was quite busy having my mouth assaulted by you,” Hannibal teases, dropping further down Will’s newly revealed chest, nosing along the scars and curves of muscle. 

Will can only respond with a breathy chuckle which melts into a soft moan as Hannibal reaches his jeans.

“I still don’t understand your love for jeans,” Hannibal whispers against the bulge in Will’s apparently appalling jeans.

“They’re practical,” Will whispers, his eyes fluttering shut despite his desperate need to watch Hannibal do whatever he’s about to do.

“Well, not at this moment,” Hannibal smirks, lifting his eyes to Will’s face. “Right now, clothing in general is impractical.”

“Then get them off of me, _Hannibal,”_ Will whispers, smirking at the soft moan that barely escapes Hannibal’s lips. 

Will swears he can hear Hannibal mutter a quiet ‘fuck,’ and it’s a lovely feeling: making the great Hannibal Lecter utter such profanities. 

The jeans are thrown away without mercy, leaving Will in only his tightening boxers and dangling shirt. Hannibal rises to kiss Will again, but Will ducks his head to kiss at Hannibal’s neck, his own hands practically ripping away the shirt and trousers Hannibal has on. 

“Get them off,” he hisses at Hannibal’s skin, and Hannibal laughs at the lack of control Will seems to have. 

“But of course,” he whispers in reply, joining Will’s hands in the battle against thread and buttons. 

They stumble across the room, one article of clothing joining the next in a trail to the bedroom. They both nearly fall when Hannibal’s trousers fall to his ankles, stumbling and catching themselves on the edge of the couch, and Will is tempted to just stop and do it on the couch. 

“No,” Hannibal whispers, knowing Will’s thought when he catches the longing gaze to the couch. “I wish to take my time with you.”

“Fucking on the couch too crass for you, Hannibal?” Will whispers against his throat.

“It’s not _intimate,”_ Hannibal growls. 

“And you demand intimacy between us,” Will murmurs.

“I think we deserve it, considering we are both covered in the blood of our shared kill.”

He scoffs. “And taking a life together is most intimate.” Even if the death wasn’t shared. Merely the aftermath.

“It is,” Hannibal mused. “The basest instinct laid bare before each other, and accepting each other for it.”

“Loving each other for it.” He kisses at the collarbone before him, worshipping the skin with his lips. 

“So let me take you to bed,” Hannibal pleads softly. “Let me show you everything.”

Will kisses him in reply.

This month in Europe has been intimate. It has been tender, loving, and the aspect of life Will found himself desperately scared of losing. He woke every morning besides Hannibal, kissing him and murmuring words of adoration, before greeting a very grumpy Abigail in her bedroom. They’d rise after the sun did, lounging about the kitchen, being sappy and at peace. He’d taught Abigail how to make fishing lures, twisting the thread between their fingers to construct a design that could never be replicated. He’d laid with Hannibal in the sun, stretching in the sun like an overly pleased cat. His life had become simple, bright, and happy. Abigail alive, Hannibal with him, and the sunlight turning his skin slightly tan. 

He’s been strangely happy.

Happy, and scared. Scared of losing this happiness he has been given, scared of Hannibal taking away what he had given. Scared of waking to Abigail bleeding out on the kitchen floor and a knife in his gut.

_I am the lure._ This is his mantra, his prayer. He has seduced Hannibal Lecter, and must continue to do so if he is to keep Abigail alive. 

But while he lures, Hannibal stalks. And Will, the only one who could truly understand Hannibal, has been stalked and hunted. Hannibal is strung up on his hook, but he’s stuck in between Hannibal’s teeth. Impaled, mounted, and displayed on his Ravenstag’s antlers. His beloved Ravenstag with it’s soft fur and warm embrace. 

_It’s too easy, loving Hannibal._

The door to their bedroom is opened with unsteady hands, demanding hands, and they finally fall together onto the bed, Hannibal below Will as he straddles him, still kissing. Hands tilt Will’s head down to Hannibal can properly kiss him, tongue curling around tongue, tasting and assaulting mouths, leaving nothing unexplored. This… this is familiar. Wrapped in Hannbal’s arms and kissed sweetly. This is what Will has been given for the past month. This is what he has learned to cherish.

But this isn’t everything Hannibal can give. This isn’t everything Hannibal is. Hannibal is… dark. He can be cruel, merciless. He is the image of the devil, beautiful, yet everything will should fear, hate, even. So what does that make Will? The angel that Hannibal has corrupted, or the devil that Hannibal has revealed? The sheep in wolf’s clothing or the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

“Where has you mind run off to?” Hannibal murmurs into the patch of skin under Will’s ear, kissing it softly. 

Will shakes his head lightly. “Nowhere. I’m here.”

Hannibal chuckles lightly, the sound more felt that heard, his chest rumbling against Will’s. “I surely hope so. I wouldn’t want you to run off as I make love to you.”

Will will refuse the blush that rises to his cheeks. Not even Abigail could make him admit it. “Is this what this is?” He asks lowly, rocking against Hannibal with full intent to seduce, accepting his fate of being seduced. “Making love? Is this not a result of blood passion?”

“This is a result of everything,” Hannibal whispers, as if conveying his sweetest secrets. Hands run up and down Will’s sides, desperate and full of intent. “Of every moment spent with you, climaxing in these moments.” 

Will stills under his hands. “Is it really?”

Hannibal smiles something sweet and tender. “This is me, finally laying myself bare before you. An offering to the deity you have become.”

Will kisses him, silencing the foolish words. “You’re supposed to be fucking me, Doctor Lecter, not sweet talking me.”

“I am supposed to be making you writhe in pleasure, _mylimasis_ ,” Hannibal utters simply as his hands dip down to rise and fall over the curves of Will’s body. “Worshipping you. Giving you everything I am.”

Will stutters as Hannibal’s hands drift down to cup his groin. “What you are,” he breathes. “Is a monster.”

Hannibal smirks, leaning in and whispering against Will’s lips, “What makes me a monster, Will?” 

Will gives him a heated glare which morphs into a roll of eyes as Hannibal applies more pressure to his growing erection. 

“Is it how I kill?” Hannibal whispers, dragging Will’s body against him. “How I eat? How I destroy others around me, manipulating them into my puppets for my entertainment? What was it, Will, that made you realize I am a monster?”

“How you lied to me,” Will hisses, grinding himself down onto Hannibal, smirking at the breathy moan that escapes him. “How you made me believe I killed my daughter and how you betrayed me and left me to _rot.”_

“I didn’t leave you, Will,” Hannibal whispers as he rolls Will onto his back, landing with a small ‘oof’ as he gently caresses him. “I quickened your becoming. I urged the darkness inside of you to rise.”

“I didn’t know that,” Will hisses, biting at Hannibal’s lips. “I didn’t know that you did it out of twisted love. I thought I was _abandoned_ by you.”

Hannibal stills, resting his hands on Will’s hips. “I will never abandon you again, Will.”

“Really?” Will whispers, watching Hannibal carefully, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Will you never leave me?”

Hannibal shakes his head and dips down to kiss Will sweetly, tenderly. “Never.”

“Is this what you have to offer me?” Will muses as they kiss, his hands curling into Hannibal’s hair. “Tenderness and admiration?”

“I have my worship to offer you,” Hannibal whispers, leaning down and bracing his weight with his left arm beside Will’s head. “I just watched you kill a man with my knife, watched you submerge yourself in your own darkness rather than the darkness of others.” He kisses him again. “There is nothing but tenderness.”

“No darkness in the bedroom, then?” Will whispers. “No angry sex and kinky bondage?”

Hannibal chuckles, running his free hand up and down Will’s sides. “Not yet.” Another kiss. “Not tonight.”

Will moans softly, surrendering to the feeling of Hannibal’s hands on him. “Kiss me,” he whispers, playing the desperate, submissive role. Submissive to Hannibal. Only Hannibal.

“As you wish,” Hannibal murmurs, tilting his head down to kiss the skin of Will’s arched neck. His body bends over Will, protecting him from the rest of the world, or perhaps hiding him away like a dragon with its horde. His lips worship - there is really no other word to describe what Hannibal does - Will, whispering promises of love in a language Will can’t understand. 

He continues to kiss Will, worship him with tender kisses, and he traces aimless patterns across Will’s skin, painting a masterpiece that only Will can see. Will’s hands find themselves threaded through surprisingly silky hair, cradling Hannibal’s head and guiding him in his work. Soft moans are released, small shivers seize Will as he is lavished with kisses, and he finds himself relaxing, melting into Hannibal’s touches. He’s still hard, but the air of desperateness has disappeared, simply lost in the touches Hannibal gives him. 

“You’re such a sap,” Will whispers playfully, grinning when Hannibal’s eyes tilt up to meet his. 

“I told you I would take my time with you,” Hannibal replies, smirking into his next kisses. Will’s skin and body is explored, discovered and recorded in the halls of Hannibal’s mind. Lips tug on skin, bringing blood to the unbroken surface, and his tongue claims and memorized the feeling of Will’s skin. “One day, you must let me spend hours merely memorizing you. Drawing you and committing you to memory. Reconstructing this body in my mind so I may know you better than anyone.”

“You already know me best,” Will reminds him, hands stroking Hannibal’s head and hair while he smiles fondly. 

Hannibal hums, acknowledging it before continuing to lather skin with kisses. 

“This is far too slow, Hannibal,” Will groans softly when Hannibal refuses to touch where Will wants him the most. 

“Would you like me to speed things up, then?” Hannibal rasps, moving up Will’s body slowly, lips brushing against skin before coming to rest and to whisper against Will’s mouth again. “Plunge headfirst into the pleasure without any patience?”

“I need to see you lose yourself in the pleasure,” Will whispers, nibbling at Hannibal’s lower lip, earning a soft moan. “Lose yourself in me.”

Hannibal watches him fondly. “Only if you return the favor.” 

Will respond by surging up and shoving Hannibal into the bed, straddling him and kissing him harshly. Tongues twist and teeth click against each other, but Hannibal seems all too eager for this. 

“Lose yourself in me,” Hannibal echoes, almost taunting Will. 

_I am the lure._

He grinds down on Hannibal’s not so soft groin and smirks at the groan released, followed quickly by hands yanking in his hair to drag him back down to Hannibal’s unforgiving mouth. 

_You are the hunter._

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal rasps, his hands grasping Will’s jaw and hair. 

Will can’t respond, so he only moves his hand down Hannibal’s chest - one that is endearingly covered in a patch of hair - to his firm stomach and then pausing at the hem of his underwear. He thumbs at the cloth there, pulling it up and down before moving away. The hand returns to cup at Hannibal’s erection through the material, and Hannibal moans, shifting his leg over Will’s hip to tilt him over and onto his back. 

With Hannibal above him and in between his legs, he palms at his sex and takes his time in watching Hannibal crawl towards his release. His lips are parted, his bangs hanging over his eyes, cheeks flushed, and eyes _hungry_ beyond belief. Beautiful. 

He rests his head on Hannibal’s collarbone and whispers, “Are you fucking me or am I fucking you?”

Hannibal huffs out a chuckle, biting lightly at Will’s earlobe. “Depends.”

“On what?” Will’s hand slips under Hannibal’s boxers, and his breath catches when he feels heated flesh. 

“On who seduces who,” Hannibal rasps, his eyes fluttering shut and head falling as Will palms at him. 

“So you’d let me fuck you?” Will whispers into Hannibal’s ear, his cheeks tickled by his dirty blond hair stained with a touch of blood. “Let me own you, completely, and have my way with you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal breathes without hesitation. “I wish to give you everything, _mylimasis_.”

Well isn’t that convenient. 

“Let me,” Will whispers, tender, as his hands peel away Hannibal’s boxers. “Let me lose myself in you.”

Hannibal kisses him again, desperately giving and taking from Will with his kiss. “Will you be gentle?” Hannibal gasps, pushing _down_ as he speaks, lips pressing against lips. “Or would you take without mercy?”

Will grabs his hips and arches up into his touches. “I would make love to you,” Will responds. “I would give you everything I am.”

He can feel Hannibal’s smile against his lips. “What you are is _angry_ , Will.”

“I can be tender,” Will snaps as he lips at Hannibal’s bottom lip and rock against him. “I can be loving, and gentle, and merciful.”

“What if I don’t want that?” Hannibal whispers. 

“You want this to be tender,” Will reminds him, gasping as Hannibal’s hands push away the offending material of his boxers. 

“I want this to be _intimate_ ,” Hannibal growls, wrapping a hand around Will’s member. “I want you to give me everything you are and love me for everything I am.” 

Will’s hips stutter against Hannibal’s touch. “Everything I am includes the anger and love I feel for you.”

Hannibal kisses him softly. “I know.”

“I’m still angry. I’m still pissed at the thought of Alana in your bed. At the thought of being betrayed by you. I’ve… I’ve forgiven you, don’t get me wrong,” Will whispers, almost angrily as they disentangle for a moment to pull down their boxers. “But you are not off the hook,” he hisses as he pounces on Hannibal again.

“I know, Will,” Hannibal murmurs, throwing away Will’s underwear. “I know.”

“You are _mine,_ Hannibal,” Will hisses as the pleasure begins to mount. “Your designs are mine. Your life is mine.”

“As you are _mine,_ ” Hannibal whispers, his voice honey and oozing through Will. “We are the same, now.”

_We always have been._

Will shifts them gently so Hannibal lays on his back, his eyes never leaving Hannibal. Eye contact is held between them, and Hannibal’s gaze seems to caress Will in a heady embrace, cradling him. It’s odd, feeling so comfortable in the eyes of another. Odd, feeling safe in the grasp of a predator. 

“Give me everything, Will,” Hannibal whispers, a hand coming up to touch Will’s cheek lovingly. “Lose yourself in me.”

Will drops his head to kiss Hannibal again, resting his forehead against Hannibal’s as he positions himself in between Hannibal’s legs and wrapping legs around his waist. “Lube?”

Hannibal kisses the corner of his mouth before stretching to the side to open the drawer beside their bed, shuffling through before coming back with a packet of lube. 

Will chuckles against his lips as he leans back down. “Always so prepared.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal muses. “Or eager.”

“Or hopeful,” Will adds, taking the packet from him and holding Hannibal’s erection with his other hand, pumping him slowly and driving Hannibal into pleasure. “You sure you wanna let me do this?”

“I trust you, Will,” Hannibal whispers. “I will give you everything.” 

Will nods before bending down to kiss Hannibal again, using one hand to brace himself against the bed and another to explore the monster underneath his hands. The warm length of flesh which elicits the most delightful gasps, the endearing patch of hair, the strong thighs framing his hips, the dip in the flesh which leads to warmth and a puckered ring. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Will whispers as he circles his finger around Hannibal’s hole. He slowly leans up to better see what the hell he's doing. 

Hannibal hums softly and brings himself to his elbows so he can follow Will up, speaking against his lips. “I know. I’ll guide you.”

Will huffs our half a chuckle. “You’ve always guided me, regardless of whether or not I wanted your guidance.”

Hannibal smirks, bringing a hand to Will’s jaw and caressing it. “I trust you to be loving, if not gentle with me.”

Will quirks his eyebrows as a response before kissing Hannibal lightly on the lips. He tears open the packet of lube, spreading it on the fingers of his right hand, and he returns to the pocket of heat and brushed against the skin there. 

“I trust you,” Hannibal whispers, arching into Will’s nervous touch. 

Will nods, swallows, and pushes one finger gently, then more forcefully, pushing past the first ring of flesh and marveling at the heat of it. He can’t bring himself to look up at Hannibal’s face to gauge his reaction, but the man under him seems relaxed and content, welcoming Will’s touches. He pushes deeper, knuckles grazing across the rim, and Hannibal’s breaths are shallowing. He presses his face against the side of Will’s neck, and he kisses him softly. 

“Move it in and out, slowly,” Hannibal whispers, the words almost a command. 

Will can’t do anything but obey. 

He pulls back the digit, lost in the feeling of the way muscle and flesh move against his finger. The ridges and bumps of one of the most intimate parts of Hannibal. He pushes back in again, still gently and almost shyly, when only the tip of his forefinger remains inside, and then repeats the motion, slowly becoming more daring and quick. 

His lips find Hannibal’s, and they kiss gently as Will discovers him. Hannibal seems content, having a finger up his ass, but Will is a bit terrified of screwing this up. He knows the basics of gay sex - he’s been curious in his younger, more stable years - but it’s different to read about it and to actually do it. The heat and the intimacy of touching someone like this, it’s overwhelming. Making love to women is lust driven. Basic human desire to fuck and make babies. This isn’t that. This is… this is intimate. This is searching desperately for intimacy, for more intimacy, between two killers lost in each other’s minds. 

He adds another finger at Hannibal’s demand, and under his guidance, finds that one spot inside that breaks Hannibal. He curls his fingers as Hannibal commands, searching for something, and when he finds it, Hannibal quivers underneath his touch and Will is lost in the amount of pleasure he sees flashing across Hannibal’s expression. Pure bliss in its basest form. 

“Another,” Hannibal whispers, slamming his mouth back against Will’s, frantically curling his tongue around Will’s. “Now that you know where to touch.”

Will kisses him back with equal vigor, carefully inserting a third finger and crooking them again to find that spot, that special little spot that makes Hannibal lose it. He finds it again, and he grins at the way Hannibal bucks helplessly against his touch. 

“Will,” Hannibal whispers. “Will.” Uttering his name just for the sake of uttering it. Letting the name roll of his tongue in pleasure. 

A hand snakes around to touch Will’s erection, and his movements stutter at the warmth that enfolds him. Hannibal moves his hand steadily, spreading the precome on Will’s length and stroking him with a damning level of control. 

“Fuck,” Will gasps at the touch, his fingers inside Hannibal bucking like his hips.

“Continue, Will,” Hannibal whispers, his voice raspy and thicker with his accent. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

_Oh fuck._

“Stretch me for you,” Hannibal croons, breathing into Will’s ear. “Prepare me, because once you’re properly inside me, I doubt neither of us will have enough control to make this gentle.”

Will moves on and out, albeit unsteadily, and adds more lube to make it easier to slip in and out of Hannibal. 

“That’s it,” Hannibal murmurs, kissing Will again, still pumping his cock in his hand. “You’re doing so well, _mylimasis._ So gentle, so loving. Although I suspect that that will quickly change when you put that impressive cock inside me.”

Will snarls into Hannibal’s mouth, his hips bucking into Hannibal and his hand wet with lube. “If you’re still talking, I’m obviously not doing so well.”

Hannibal smirks and allows a moan to pass his lips. “Then I suggest putting more effort into it.”

_Damn you,_ Will hisses in his mind, pressing every patch of flesh inside except for that one spot. Everywhere but where Hannibal wants. The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the slick of the lube, and the occasional profanity one of them will utter. After forever and no time at all, Hannibal grabs Will’s wrist and pulls his fingers out, leaving Will’s hand oddly cold. 

“I’m ready for you,” Hannibal whispers heavily, kissing Will while grasping both sides of his head, licking into his mouth. “Give me everything.”

Will shudders and wraps an arm around Hannibal’s waist and using the other hand to line himself up to Hannibal’s flexing hole. He presses the tip against it, not in, not yet, and pauses as he meets Hannibal’s eyes. 

“You’re beautiful,” Will whispers as he pushes in, slowly and not so steadily. His breath hitches at the warm and the tightness, gasping at the way Hannibal holds him. “You’re so beautiful.”

Hannibal kisses him, his own breathing a heavy pant. 

“The darkness,” Will murmurs, pushing in deeper and deeper, losing himself in the heat of it all. “It’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”

“So are you, Will,” Hannibal manages to utter, arching his spine to better allow Will to slip inside of him. 

“I see you,” Will whispers, almost desperately as he finally fully buries himself in Hannibal, his hips pressed flush against Hannibal’s. “I’ve always seen you.”

Hannibal holds him and kisses him. “I know.”

Will pulls out slightly, only to push himself back into the almost suffocating heat. “I need you.”

“And I you,” Hannibal replies immediately. “So, make love to me, Will. Give me everything. Lose yourself in me.”

Will shudders and moans as he pulls out almost all the way, only to slam back inside. “ _Hannibal_.”

Will pulls in and out, in and out, in a steady, broken rhythm, slowly lost in the warmth. 

“You’re quite impressive,” Hannibal notes softly after Will pushes in and grazes his prostate. “Larger than what I’ve taken before.”

“How many have you taken?” Will hisses, suddenly seized with jealousy at the thought of someone else knowing Hannibal like this.

“Not many,” Hannibal whispers into the column of Will’s glistening throat. “A few. They were all quite disappointing.”

“Are they alive?” Will can’t help but ask.

“Most of them, no,” Hannibal muses. “I ended up disposing of them.”

Wil’’s movements stutter and he can’t help but slam his mouth over Hannibal’s, taking and giving all he can. “You’re mine, _Doctor Lecter_ ,” Will hisses, his hands settled over Hannibal’s chest, exploring skin. “Mine.”

“As you are mine,” Hannibal murmurs, that murmur soon morphing into a quiet, pleased moan. “That’s it, Will. Right there.”

Will pushes in and out, dragging the pleasure through his body and stuttering as he leans over Hannibal: lips caressing lips. The quiet mixture of soft moans and murmurs of affection and the obscene sound of flesh moving against flesh is a symphony against Hannibal’s ears. A piece of music composed for Will and him, and only for them. 

He reaches an unsteady hand to Will’s face, lost in adoration for the man above him and inside him, in every sense. This is his beautiful boy, finally hatched from the chrysalis, beautiful and unpredictable. He allows himself to let go, to not lose control but to surrender it to Will, stepping into the warmth and the basic pleasures of the flesh. Skin on skin and body inside body, as mind is inside mind. 

The sweat collects on their skin, coating them in a heady, human scent. Will can feel his pleasure building, cooking inside him and inside Hannibal, and he can see that Hannibal feels it as well, whether it’s Will’s pleasure or his own that he feels. With a shaky hand, he wraps his fingers and palm about Hannibal’s length, wet with precome, and moves up and down, marveling in the feeling of another man, another human, a monster in a person suit, just like him. He twists and moves and tugs on Hannibal, earning almost elegant yet debauched moans, and he drinks them in like fine, fine whiskey. 

“Is this intimacy?” Will whispers against Hannibal’s lips. “Is this what you wanted?”

Hannibal kisses him with unsteady lips. “This is the beginning. The beginning of… everything.”

The pleasure then touches the point just before the peak, glancing off of the climax, and suddenly Hannibal is pulling away.

“Hannibal?” Will cannot help the small, frantic whisper, almost _whimper_ that escapes him. 

He watches Hannibal for answers for what feels like forever and never, but his answer is given. Hannibal pushes Will back, over, and practically slams his back against the bed, eliciting a squeak of springs and an unruly slam against the wall. The breath is yanked from Will’s chest, and then stolen once again as Hannibal straddles him begins sinking down onto Will, throwing his head back and throwing moonlight off of his skin. 

Like this, with his eyes watching Will as if Hannibal was the predator and Will his unfortunate prey, Hannibal is the image of sin. Perhaps not Hannibal’s image of it, with pallid demons and marble creatures, but this is how Will imagines it. Hannibal is the Devil, beautiful, oh so beautiful, and emerged in the pleasures of the flesh. The sex and the sin and the death, all a prelude, foreplay, to the climax. 

Will wonders if this makes him a devil worshiper but at this point he cannot give two shits.

Hannibal rises and falls on Will, shamelessly moaning and driving Will insane, baiting him to lose himself even further and just slam _up_ into the warmth of Hannibal’s body. Will isn’t ashamed to say that he takes the bait. 

Driving himself up, in, deep, it’s delightfully base. This is raw, exposed, and there are no illusions here. Hannibal is his. He is Hannibal’s.

“I want you to come inside me,” Hannibal rasps, watching Will intently. 

Will responds with hands digging deeper into Hannibal’s hips and a desperate slam up. 

“That’s it,” Hannibal whispers, head falling forward and hair brushing against Will’s head, adding to the image of… debauchery. “Lose yourself.”

Will feels the last frantic stagger toward climax, and he wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist, dragging him closer and burying himself in Hannibal with a shudder and hitch of breath. Hannibal falls forward with almost his entire body, leaning against Will and pressing his cheek to the top of Will’s head, turning and kissing it, whispering words of adoration as he feels his own orgasm stumble through him. 

The room reeks of sex and sweat and blood, but Will has never felt more content and… happy. _Endorphins from the sex_ , he tells himself. Kisses from his lips bury themselves on Hannibal’s neck: worshiping skin. 

_I’m yours._

“You were perfect,” Hannibal whispers into the mess of curls. “Beautiful.”

Will chuckles, the sound vibrating in between them, like a purr. He hands knead into Hannibal’s lower back, and he’s very aware of the fact that he’s still inside Hannibal. 

“We should probably shower,” Will whispers into the crook of Hannibal’s neck. 

Hannibal hums and tilts Will’s chin up so their eyes meet. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Let’s just… lay here for a moment.”

Will chuckles again, and Hannibal finds himself utterly fond of the sound. “First let’s actually lay down, then.”

Hannibal smirks, and he allows Will to slip out and maneuver them onto their sides, facing each other. Hannibal pulls Will half onto his chest, his head tucked beneath Hannibal’s chin. 

“So,” Will murmurs, hands fiddling with the hair on Hannibal’s chest. 

“So,” Hannibal echoes, smirking fondly at the curls underneath his chin. 

“We killed a guy,” Will begins, his voice almost sarcastic. “We mutilated him. We came home. And we fucked.”

Hannibal allows himself a quiet laugh, wrapping his arm more tightly around Will’s shoulder. “I’d prefer to call it love making rather than fucking, but to each their own, I guess.”

Will snorts. “Sap.”

Hannibal smiles and kisses the top of Will’s head. “Fucking implies being detached and having no emotional connection to the one who you are fucking. Love making, well, we both know the connotations that holds.”

“Love making usually doesn’t come after murder, Hannibal,” Will mutters, his eyes flickering the blood that their sweat has washed off and the blood that has still cling tightly to their skin. 

Hannibal allows Will’s comment, but says, “It was love making nonetheless.”

“Why are you being so… fond and gentle?” Will whispers. “I was expecting kinkier sex.”

Hannibal laughs at that, the sound loving on Will’s ears. “Because I am happy, Will.” He shifts Will in his arms so they lay beside each other, eyes meeting. “I am-” He brushes a strand of hair from Will’s eyes. “- content.”

Will looks to Hannibal fondly, a small smile on his lips. “We’re finally together. Conjoined.”

Hannibal smiles in agreement and presses a kiss to the top of Will’s forehead, tasting salt on his skin. “I doubt either of us can survive separation.”

“We are the same, now,” Will murmurs, thinking back to the time where he was terrified of becoming like Hannibal. Terrified of the dark. 

Silence fills the space between them, but it’s heavy with skin touching skin and the steady beating of their hearts, all coated in the warmth of their adoration and bliss. The silence, the comfortableness of it, seems to enhance the intimacy between them. There are a thousand unspoken promises woven into the silence around them, promises that once brought Will to his knees in fear. But now, it’s different. This is different. 

They’ve both had their fair share of lovers, but _this_ , this bond, this is different. This was deeper, more meaningful. This is coated in blood and murder and darkness, making them unbearably delighted. 

This isn’t Alana. Or Margot. Or whoever they’ve slept with. This isn’t a game. Maybe once, when Will was an innocent and Hannibal his puppeteer, but not in this moment, as they lay in their sweat and semen. This sweet and playful game has evolved, into lust and power and death, and dear God it’s _addicting._ Dreamlike. 

_It is just a dream, after all._

They clamber out of bed to shower a few minutes into the silence. They move around each other like water, accommodating and graceful. _Like the water that fills his lungs and drenches his skin._ Clothes stained with deep red are collected and tossed into the fire; the ashes will be thrown away in the morning. They showever together, touching and kissing but nothing more. This is enough. This intimacy is enough. 

After cleaning and showering (and kissing), they finally shuffle back into bed with content smiles on their faces as Hannibal pulls Will close against his chest, smiling. 

“This is all I ever wanted for you, Will,” Hannibal whispers against Will’s hair. 

“It’s beautiful,” Will replies, his voice a barely heard murmur against Hannibal’s chest. 

_Beautiful indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I posted this while having a mental breakdown, so I might delete it later. 
> 
> Leave kudos and tell me what you thought of this utter filth?


End file.
